Lunch was, as ever, a warzone.
Not in the sense of blood and swords though a breadstick or two had been known to cause injury but in the wild, jostling, utterly unmanageable sense of so many personalities.
The table was laid out in decadent glory, with bowls of spiced vegetables, platters of sweetbreads, and no fewer than three different kinds of roasted meat. Silverware glinted; crystal decanters shimmered with wine. In short, it was everything a royal banquet ought to be.
But the assembled crowd was anything but royal.
Lara was half-reclined, trying to feed Aliyah while also instructing her on proper fruit-flinging technique. Sarisa was valiantly attempting to keep her daughter's sticky fingers from grabbing her sleeves.
Veylira and Raveth, fresh from whatever romantic mischief they'd been up to all morning, had their heads together, whispering and occasionally bursting into laughter, their affection for each other obvious and embarrassing in equal measure.
